The Fallen Soldier Memorial

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/56845108.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Relationship: Han-dae & Son Hak & Tae-Woo
Characters: Son Hak, Han-Dae (Akatsuki no Yona), Tae-Woo (Akatsuki no Yona)
Additional Tags: Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Early Days in Fuuga
Stats: Published: 2024-06-23 Words: 1,311 Chapters: 1/1
 The Fallen Soldier Memorial
by hiyagoflamingo

Summary

Han-dae always felt different than Hak and Tae-woo, and never more so than during the
Fallen Soldier Memorial. When he leaves town during the memorial, Hak and Tae-woo find
themselves missing him.

The second part in a collection of oneshots depicting Hak, Han-dae, and Tae-woo living in
Fuuga as young teens. It catalogs their adventures, misadventures, and the changes they
witness within the kingdom before canon events in the series.

Notes

Hak is 14, Tae-woo and Han-dae are 13.

See the end of the work for more notes

Han-dae knew Hak and Tae-woo as thoroughly as his own siblings; they were raised together
after all. Han-dae’s mother and Tae-woo’s foster mother were best friends since childhood,
which meant the boys were acquainted since the crib. Since their houses were convenient,
from early boyhood Han-dae would run along the cliffside path to Tae-woo’s wind-blown
house and insist they spend the morning exploring the moors, searching for snakes. Even
now the tradition continued, though now the boys were smart enough to hunt for snakes at
nighttime, though this would require deceiving their parents to sneak out.

Han-dae and Tae-woo were three when they met Hak. Their parents needed to be away for
several days and dropped them off at General Mundok’s—the village’s bleeding heart when it
came to childcare. In the beginning, Mundok hoped Hak would be a positive role model for
the two rough-and-tumble toddlers, but it was shortly evident that Hak only served as a
corrupting influence.

Hak was like the cool older brother Han-dae and Tae-woo never had. Han-dae only had
sisters and Tae-woo was the eldest himself, so naturally both younger boys firmly attached
themselves to Hak, acting as—at least what Hak enjoyed calling them—obnoxious tagalongs.

Even as the three grew older and closer, a large gap between Han-dae and the other two was
palpable. A disparity which didn’t exist between Tae-woo and Hak, but a force that singled
Han-dae from the group. This silent force hid behind awkward silences and shadowed itself
within Hak and Tae-woo’s black hair. Though fleeting, you could catch it flashing across
their blue eyes at night. It nestled itself between the small uncomfortable moments, like how
the elders kept forgetting Tae-woo and Hak weren’t brothers.

This unseen, yet painfully present, weight grew throughout the year until it reached a
crescendo on the day of the Fallen Soldier’s Memorial, after which it disappeared and bided
its time, growing slowly, until next year’s memorial. So, during the weekend of the Fallen
Soldier’s Memorial, Han-dae always left Fuuga to give Hak and Tae-woo their space. He
saddled his horse and traveled half a day to the Wind Tribe’s coastline, where a cousin of his
lived.

Han-dae’s cousin lived in a sleepy fishing village at the top of a sandy, reedy hill which
overlooked the beach. He knocked on his cousin’s sea-weathered door, which slid open.

“Kwan!” Han-dae dropped his bag and hugged his cousin. “It’s been too long.”

“You should visit more often,” Kwan wheezed as Han-dae crushed him in his hug.

“You should come to Fuuga sometime!”

“I don’t have a horse to travel.”

“I suppose everyone around here has boats rather than horses.”

Kwan picked up his bag. “Come in!”

Han-dae stepped inside Kwan’s home. It was tiny, just big enough for him and his wife, who
both worked as fishermen. His wife was elbows-deep gutting a fish when Han-dae walked
in. She offered him some fish, which Han-dae eagerly accepted. As he sank his teeth into
the tender sashimi, he forgot all about Hak and Tae-woo. Thoughts of the memorial were
stifled as he savored the exotic oceanic flavors he never experienced at home.

At sunrise, Han-dae took his horse out on the beach and rode as fast as he could, just out of
reach of the splashing waves. The sky-painted ocean was speckled with fishing boats
scudding about, hauling up that morning’s catch.

When the sun rose higher, Han-dae returned his horse and instead lounged in the sun, mere
feet from the lapping ocean. When he grew bored of laying still, he took to chasing flocks of
gulls and digging small crabs from their shelters. He roved about the shore poking washed-
up creatures with a stick, but when it grew too hot for that he plunged into the ocean and
paddled about, only to dash out when a plant touched his leg.

At night, Han-dae took his grandfather’s old lute—which had since been entrusted to Kwan
—and played melancholy songs on the beach by a driftwood fire, wondering if the pretty
neighbor girl would notice. Han-dae knew it was stupid, but it was his own brand of fun,
reserved for once a year. The neighbor girl never noticed, and Han-dae impressed nobody on
the lute, not even Kwan.

After the incense burned down, Tae-woo finally turned away from his parent’s gravesite. He
knew the earth beneath was empty—no bodies were ever found—but it was nice to come
here anyway to remember them and their sacrifice. At least half this cemetery was filled with
soldiers who died in the most recent conflict with Xing, the same conflict that claimed Tae-
woo’s and Hak’s parents.

Tae-woo’s foster mother put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?” she asked. Tae-woo’s
younger sister Yu-hae and younger brother Tan-tan—rather, the children of his foster parents
—played quietly in the other corner of Tae-woo’s family plot.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he told her. He glanced around. “What happened to Hak?”

At that moment, Mundok strolled past, arms full of food offerings to deliver to his son’s
grave.

“Hey,” Tae-woo called out. “Have you seen Hak?”

Tae-woo found Hak sitting on Han-dae’s porch, looking as if he’d wait all afternoon for Han-
dae to appear. “I ran into Mundok. He told me you were here.” Tae-woo joined Hak on the
porch. “You do realize Han-dae won’t come home until the memorial is over, right? He
always leaves this time of year. Waiting for him won't bring him back any sooner.”

“I know,” Hak sighed. “But I miss him every time.”

The next evening Han-dae barreled into Fuuga, itching head to toe from a sunburn. His hair
was in tangles from the ocean breeze, and he carried a bag weighty with food he couldn’t find
in Fuuga.

As he galloped into the stables, he found Tae-woo lounging on a bale of hay, lazily flicking a
blade of grass about between his teeth.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting here long,” Han-dae said.

“I wanted to catch you as soon as you came back,” Tae-woo told him, sitting up. “Hak and I
found a whole burrow of weasels. Want to go catch them with us?”

Han-dae slipped the saddle off his horse and hung it on a hook. “You could have done it
without me, in case the weasels moved on before I returned.”

“But we wanted to do it with you.”

“You didn’t have to.” Han-dae unbridled the horse. “Go without me. I should unpack.”
Tae-woo took his shoulder. “Do it later. You’ve been gone the whole weekend! Come on.
You love catching weasels, and we need your thin wrists to reach into their den.”

Hesitancy showed in Han-dae’s eyes. “Are you sure you want me around?”

“Dude. We’re bored when you’re gone.”

Han-dae sighed. “Fine. Let’s catch some weasels.”

The three boys huddled around a hollow log near a stream. To arrive there, they had tramped
through the forest for a solid thirty minutes.

Hak crouched by the log. “They’re in here,” he said, peering in. Han-dae circled around.
The mouth of the log was quite narrow. Definitely too large for the other’s hands to fit.

The boys chanted together. “Three. Two. One.”

Han-dae plunged his hand into the hollow log. He reached further and further, his fingertips
waiting to brush against soft fur. He was shoulder-deep into the log now, flailing his arm
about, grasping at nothing except shreds of damp, decaying log.

Han-dae was about to give up when dagger-like teeth sank into his soft fingers. Bellowing,
Han-dae yanked his arm out. He instinctually whipped his hand about to shake off the
determined animal, still clamped onto his finger. The weasel span through the air and landed
with a squeak on Hak’s shoulder. It immediately sank its teeth into Hak’s ear, and Tae-woo
and Han-dae exploded into fits of laughter.
End Notes

I spent too much time researching weasels haha

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!